


Tea

by PseudoLeigha



Series: Mary Potter Cut Scenes [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Mary Potter background, Mary Potter cut scene, Non-Linear Narrative, Politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 15:31:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11443791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudoLeigha/pseuds/PseudoLeigha
Summary: Narcissa Malfoy and Emma Granger have tea and establish the tentative beginnings of their political alliance.





	Tea

**Author's Note:**

> Italics denote flashbacks.

 

It was five of four on a Sunday afternoon, the setting sun just visible through the bare branches of a miniature wood. It was unseasonably warm for early November, though the snow which lay thick over the grounds of the grand manor-house showed no signs of melting. For some reason, there were peacocks, pale as the snow, scratching about the pathways and displaying their proud plumage with no regard for the season or the lack of pea-hens.

A woman in a rather expensive dress and tastefully matched shoes moved quickly up the drive, honey curls bobbing as she walked, one hand holding her wrap tightly about her, the other occasionally touching the wrapped box tucked under her opposite arm.

~^v^~

_“You have to take a gift,” Catherine said, suddenly, just when Emma thought all their preparations were complete._

_“Merlin and Morgan! Yes! The gift!” Andi looked horrified that she could have forgotten something so integral to the process of a proper introduction._

_“What kind of gift?”_

_“Something for the house,” Andi said, her expression now contemplative._

_“Something expensive,” Catherine added cynically._

_“Well, yes, I’m afraid that is a given,” Andi confirmed. “Your difference in status means that there are tribute connotations. It can be something impersonal, since it’s for the house, not the host, but nothing useful. You don’t want to imply that they need whatever it is.”_

_“Handmade, of course, whatever you choose.”_

_“Artwork is generally good.”_

_“Something delicate and unusual.”_

_Emma considered this for a long moment. “I know a woman who does hand-blown glass and silver wind chimes.”_

_“Perfect!” the witches chorused, and shared a shark-like grin._

~v^v~

The woman halted before the heavy doors, straightening her clothes and readjusting her grip on the box in the brief moment before they opened. A thin, two-foot tall creature with bulging brown eyes ushered her inside without a word, leading her to a small sitting room.

“Bippy is taking missy’s package?” it asked, fiddling nervously with the crest embroidered on its tea-towel toga.

“A gift to the House of Malfoy from the House of Granger,” Emma said with a nod, passing the box to the elf.

~^v^~

_“When you get there, she’ll probably have an elf let you in, since you’ll be expected, and she won’t want to get the door herself. Beneath her dignity and all that,” Andromeda rolled her eyes. “You can give the gift to the elf. Make sure you tell it that it’s a gift to the House of Malfoy from the House of Granger. The elf will know what to do with it.”_

_“Don’t thank the elves,” Catherine said rather sharply. “You must act as though you are accustomed to such service, even if it disturbs you just as much as it did Mary when she first came to us. Don’t be rude to them, and don’t make demands, but don’t thank them, either. They expect to be taken for granted, and you will be expected to do anything but.”_

_“Well, you know how I feel about fulfilling expectations,” Emma said with a rueful grin. Catherine had been helping her defy expectations throughout the magical world for months, now, and the solicitor had joined them not long after._

_“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” the elder witch smirked._

_“Yes, the elf is the least of your problems.”_

~v^v~

Emma sat silently on the edge of a sofa, feet tucked together and off to one side, hands folded neatly, thinking while she waited.

~^v^~

_“She’ll probably leave you waiting a bit just because she can, to try to throw you off your game,” Catherine guessed._

_“That particular power play, I’m afraid, is universal.” It was only expected, but Emma was confident that she could out-wait the other woman. After all, the invitation was for tea. To leave her for more than half an hour or so would mean breaking the meeting time she had set herself._

_“No, she won’t leave you long,” Andi said, her mouth making a moue of distaste. “Can’t have an unsupervised muggle befouling the family seat, you see.”_

_“All the better, then,” the blonde replied coolly. It would likely be the only slight her status would actually prevent._

~v^v~

A mere ten minutes later, the lady of the house appeared, superficially similar in appearance to her guest – rather short, despite their presence, with blonde hair and blue eyes – but paler and more distant: the moon to Emma’s sun. Emma allowed her to take in the sight of the muggle woman seated, harmlessly and properly, before rising smoothly to her feet, and almost immediately dropping into a curtsey.

~^v^~

_“That’s everything I can think of, but we should probably go talk to Mrs. Tonks.”_

_“Why?”_

_“Oh! I thought you knew! Mrs. Tonks and Lady Malfoy were sisters. Mrs. Tonks was disowned for marrying Mr. Tonks, but she’s a good half-dozen years older than Lady Malfoy, so it’s expected she had a hand in raising her. If you can pass muster with her, you’ll do for Lady Malfoy just as well.”_

_“So she’s finally responding to that rumor? I’m frankly a bit surprised it’s taken this long. Well, let’s see what you’ve got.”_

_Emma whisked her skirts up and away with her left hand, smoothly sweeping her right hand and right foot around in opposite arcs, so that her toe pointed away behind herself and her hand was poised to lift the Lady’s proffered hand, even as she smoothly sank a few inches on her left leg, weight carefully balanced as though to appear effortless, head held high to meet the eyes of the woman she would greet._

_Andromeda looked her over as she held the position, going so far as to walk around her and examine her from all angles. “Exquisitely performed,” she pronounced. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you had been doing this your entire life.” Emma nearly said that she had, in fact, been trained to the dance at a young age, but before she could, the witch continued: “Unfortunately, it’s entirely wrong.”_

_It was not Emma, but Catherine who objected to this pronouncement. “What do you mean it’s wrong? There aren’t any formalities for a muggle matron to be introduced to a Lady of a Noble House. Surely the bow of a dowager of a common house is the closest!”_

_“You are young, Miss Urquhart, and your house is young – barely older than the Statute, for all you claim six centuries. There are indeed formalities to introduce muggles to witches, and they are known to the daughters of the Eternal House of Black.” Andromeda Tonks had clearly never fully renounced the lessons of her childhood. She gave the younger witch a superior smile before turning back to Emma. “Your daughter styles herself the first of her name, does she not? So, you shall need to claim the position of the muggle regent to a new wizarding house. Before the Statute…”_

~v^v~

Emma waited again, right foot tucked behind her left, right arm wrapped around and pressed against her back, wrist out. Her left hand, holding her skirts, was similarly turned outward (visible signs that she meant no harm), and her head was bowed. She glanced up through heavy lashes and smiled inwardly at the ever-so-slight widening of the witch’s eyes.

~^v^~

_“The witch is in the position of power here, thus you must wait until she has acknowledged you to respond.”_

~v^v~

“Emma… _Granger_ ,” the lady said, lingering over the common, muggle name as though it were some exquisitely distasteful, disgraceful thing, accentuating the lack of a title. In the world of wizarding nobility, even children were addressed as miss or master. To ignore such a convention was to state effectively that there was not and never could be any respect between the women – one was so far beneath the other as to hardly register as human.

“Lady Malfoy,” Emma answered politely. “I come bearing greetings in response to your letter.”

~^v^~

_“Are you sure?” Catherine asked, worry clear in her tone. “We can practice dialogue if you like.”_

_“I’ve been dancing around formal exchanges longer than you’ve been alive,” Emma pointed out, raising an eyebrow at the younger woman. In point of fact, she had rejected the entire lifestyle which required her to negotiate such proprieties before Catherine was born as well, but it wasn’t as though one forgot the lessons of one’s childhood so easily as that._

_“Yes, but the dances you know are not quite the same.”_

_“Isn’t it lucky, then, that I shall have such a skilled partner?”_

_Catherine still looked doubtful._

~v^v~

Narcissa Malfoy turned without another word and strode from the room, making a gesture toward Emma much like she might make toward a dog, to follow. Emma obligingly fell into step, to the lady’s right, and one step behind, much as she had once followed her grandmother around their sprawling plantation house back in Georgia. She was led into a room with many windows, and a silver tea-service laid for two. The lady poured, still in silence. She did not enquire as to whether Emma would prefer milk or lemon, so after a moment, Emma helped herself, stirring the cup, and then leaving it to sit and cool.

~^v^~

_“This invitation, it’s for tea.”_

_“Yes…and?”_

_“Do you… do you think it’s safe? To eat and drink anything she might offer?”_

~v^v~

The witch, no doubt having cast some sort of spell to ensure that her own tea would be precisely the correct temperature, sipped immediately, then set her cup back in its saucer with nary a _tink_ and fixed an unnerving gaze on the muggle before her. Her eyes were like chips of dirty ice – a greyish blue, and cold as glass. Emma refused to allow any tension to show in the lines of her shoulders under the scrutiny. At long last, her cup stopped steaming. As she lifted it to her lips, the witch finally spoke.

“I was raised to believe that your kind were nothing more than animals, you know,” she said in a polite, almost conversational tone. “I have seen nothing of you to disprove that notion. A well-trained animal, but an animal nonetheless.”

~^v^~

_“Safe enough. If it was Bella, well… but Narcissa… she’s issued this invitation because people believe you are working at her bidding. You obviously have common cause. She wants to get your measure, I think. Her weapons will be insult and propriety, not poison. To win, you simply need to prove that you can play the game every bit as well as she.”_

_“Make it clear you’re making an effort. Such things are not expected of muggle parents. It will put her off her game.”_

~v^v~

Emma gave her hostess her most guileless smile as she replied. “Are we not all well-trained animals, striving to throw off the yoke of the gods, even as we further shackle ourselves with the chains of so-called humanity?”

The witch’s surprise was not as well concealed as she probably thought. “Aradia Montreve?”

“My daughter recommended her work. I have very much been enjoying discovering the culture of Magical Britain.”

“And what have you discovered about us?” The question was delivered so politely it must be a trap.

“Many traditions lost or abandoned by mundane society centuries ago have been preserved and transformed by your people. It is a rich and interesting history. Such a shame that the children are not taught it.”

“Some children are.” It was left unsaid that these were the children of the privileged elite, like Lady Malfoy herself, and her son. The women sipped their tea in silence once again, apparently at a stalemate.

After a long moment, Emma spoke again, offering the next conversational gambit. “I have always considered myself a student of history. In the first three decades of the twentieth century, it was believed that the propensity for wealth or poverty, hard work or laziness was a genetic trait, bred in the blood.”

Lady Malfoy raised an eyebrow, apparently unimpressed by whatever implication she thought Emma was making. “You detail for me the foolishness of muggles?”

“And the foolishness of wizards,” Emma pointed out with a raised brow of her own. “The roots of the idea lie in the same exclusive aristocracy which wizards yet maintain. But no, I simply observe that it is amazing, how quickly the world may change.”

“Short lives and short memories.”

“But a great many people, divided on a great many issues.”

“A disorganized rabble with no clear leadership,” the witch answered dismissively. She was quick, Emma would give her that, and a respected politician according to Catherine and Andromeda, but the disdainful attitude she sported painted an impression of ignorance than superiority, given that she must be nearly ten years younger than the muggle she was attempting to bait.

The muggle in question gave a tiny shake of her head and smiled to herself. She doubted the witch could truly comprehend the scale of muggle politics. “A thousand thousand factions, each with their own agenda,” she parried sharply.

“A fickle society pulling itself apart at the seams.”

“Negotiating its progress toward any number of goals,” Emma corrected her smoothly.

Narcissa sniffed contemptuously. “And what has the so-called _progress_ of muggles, such as it may be, have to do with wizards?”

The muggle suppressed a grin, allowing only the most proper, gentle up-curving of lips to grace her features. Grandmother Holliday would have approved. “It would appear that society believes we have more in common than one might have suspected. Whyever else should it have been suggested that my opinions on the shortcomings of Dumbledore’s school originated with your gracious self?”

The weight of the silence that followed this statement fell firmly, Emma felt, on Narcissa. Thus, she let it drag on, sipping her tea as though she hadn’t a care in the world as the witch considered her next verbal thrust.

~^v^~

_Nearly thirty years before, twelve-year-old Emma sat before her formidable grandmother, sipping tea and slowly crumbling a scone into dust, desperate for some form of conversation to fill the great, sucking silence between them._

_She decided, rather reluctantly, that the upcoming presidential election was a safer topic of discussion than the War in Vietnam. “Have you decided who you’ll be voting for yet, Grandmother?”_

_The old woman looked down her nose at the girl, taking in her sunburned cheeks and the wrinkles in her sundress, the smell of horse she’d brought in from the barn and the bruise on her left arm from her fight with Bobbie Rodgers two days ago on the way home from school. She sniffed. “Do yourself a favor, child,” she drawled, her voice forever reminding Emma of warm honey, despite the horrible things she was wont to say. “Learn when to hold your tongue.”_

_Emma squirmed in her seat. “I’m bored,” she mumbled, squishing scone-crumbs back together._

_“Then you might also consider learning not to show it.”_

~v^v~

Narcissa finally spoke. “There are those who would say it goes against a muggle’s interests, to oppose Albus Dumbledore, no matter how circumspectly.”

Emma’s surprise showed only in the slightly-too-fast intake of breath, but her hostess caught it, if the ever-so-slightly triumphant gleam in her eye was anything to go by. She truly hadn’t expected the witch to come around so quickly to addressing their interests – it was, of course, the reason for the invitation, but on the whole, she had expected a bit more dancing before her partner turned to business. “I cannot speak for every muggle,” she hazarded, “But for myself, my interests lie in the safety and wellbeing of my daughter.”

The witch struck at her response, as though it revealed some inherent weakness in muggle mores. “Do not most muggles’ interests lie with their children?”

Emma forced herself to speak lightly. “I do not presume to know another’s mind, but I suspect they must, to a similar degree as do most wizards’. Human nature, after all, transcends social boundaries.”

Narcissa’s mouth formed a moue of distaste, whether because Emma had parried her attack or because of the implication that muggles and witches were equally human, she didn’t know.

The witch stubbornly refused to speak, taking a long, deliberate sip, so Emma sallied forth again, this time more boldly. “It is the opinion of my husband and myself that our daughter’s needs are insufficiently met by Dumbledore’s hiring choices.”

“The length and breadth of Magical Britain is aware of your opinions, for all they know not whose they are,” Narcissa observed drily. Emma thought she caught the slightest hint of humor underlying the bland words.

~^v^~

_“How many wizards are there in Magical Britain, anyway?” Emma asked, revising a petition aimed at those who valued the inclusion of more traditionalist values in the History curriculum._

_Catherine, who was editing the one aimed at progressives, who decried the focus on war with muggles and sentient magical species, shrugged. “Perhaps eleven-thousand, all told. We’re still recovering from the last war. Before it was twelve-thousand or so, but so many died or fled…”_

~v^v~

“And, if I may be so bold, it seems a significant faction of Magical Britons agree with my opinions: The various petitions to replace the History of Magic professor, for example, have gathered over three-thousand individual signatures since September.”

“The various petitions, as you so refer to them, imply a number of mutually exclusive opinions. I suppose such is not surprising, given the chaos and apparently limited intelligence involved in muggle decision-making processes, but more civilized politicians would know that a single coherent and consistent point of view is always indicative of a strong position.”

~^v^~

_“At any given moment, the most advantageous political position,” Mr. Holmes lectured his sixteen-year-old daughter in the wake of the 1968 Presidential Election, “is not dependent upon being right or suitable for the job, or having the best ideas or plans, or the most logical approach: It is simply that one be more persuasive or less offensive than the opposition. People’s memories are short-lived and people themselves are fickle. Nixon was elected on a platform of ambiguity and vagaries. The ‘silent majority’ is not a united entity, but the range of disparate individuals and factions to whom he was the least unappealing option for one reason or another…”_

~v^v~

“I think you will find that the flaw in _that_ reasoning lies in the assumption that multiple implications of opinion suggest incoherent arguments – rather, one ought to assume logic on the part of one’s opposite number, and ask oneself: what single opinion do all of the given arguments support?” Emma drawled. “Whether a replacement could be found who meets the desired qualities of all those who object to the current professor for various reasons does not invalidate their complaints. I have simply pointed out every consideration which makes the current professor unsuitable, in an effort to make clear that opinion alone. Most instructors have some redeeming aspect to them, making them tolerable regardless of the particulars of their political motivation. The current professor appears to have none.”

“Do you mean to suggest that you truly do not care for the agenda of the professor installed in place of the ghost?”

“I shall do more than suggest such, Lady Malfoy. I shall state it outright: while impartiality would be preferred, no professor at all would be better than one whose lessons are routinely used as a study hall, or more often a nap-time by his students; whose examinations and lectures have not changed for over thirty years; whom half the country believes ought to be sacked, and the other half would only retain because he is practically a historical artifact himself, or in fear that he might be replaced by a teacher not partial to their own political views.”

Silence fell again as the lady considered this statement, staring at Emma as though she could divine her motivation from the practiced, serene expression on her face. Perhaps she could.

~^v^~

_“It’s like… like mind-reading, Mum,” Hermione attempted to explain, as she and Elizabeth related their second year’s adventures at Hogwarts._

_“Professor Snape warned us when he was doing it, when he asked everyone about the Chamber of Secrets, just enough to see if we were telling the truth. Lilian thought Dumbledore was trying to do it without telling us, though. She said you could tell because his eyes got all twinkly.”_

_“Did Snape’s?”_

_“_ Professor _Snape, and no, they were more glittery. But hard to look away from, you know?”_

~v^v~

But regardless of whether she was capable of mind-reading, Narcissa Malfoy’s eyes were just as cold and flat as they had been since they had first sat down, and hardly fascinating. Her hands were much more interesting, well-manicured and, for the most part, still and unobtrusive, occupied with her tea-cup or hidden behind the table. She began to trace a single finger along on the rim of her cup as she thought, though, betraying some anxiety, though her face did not.

~^v^~

_“The trick to poker,” her first boyfriend said, in a terribly patronizing tone, “is to learn how to tell when everyone else is bluffin’. They call it a_ tell _, some sign that they’re worried or happy or lyin’. I person’ly don’ watch people’s faces, ‘cos everyone’s got a poker face. I watch their_ hands _.”_

~v^v~

Emma waited patiently. It wouldn’t do to rush whatever decision the younger woman was making.

At long last, the witch spoke again. “And if you achieve this goal of yours, what then?”

“Why, then I believe it will be up to the Headmaster to find a candidate who will meet the hiring criteria set by of the Board of Governors,” she smiled, deliberately misinterpreting the question.

“Hiring criteria?” the witch repeated, unamused.

Emma raised an eyebrow. “It is my understanding that it is within the power of the Hogwarts Board to establish minimum requirements for prospective professors’ qualifications.”

Narcissa mirrored her expression perfectly. “And then?”

The muggle mother smiled again, politely as ever. “As I said, my interests lie with the interests of my daughter. My sympathies, however… Well, I cannot help but sympathize with those like myself, whose children are invited to attend a school in what amounts to a foreign country with a disturbing lack of communication between parents and those entrusted with the care of their children. Tell me, Lady Malfoy, have you ever heard of a Parent-Teacher Organization?”

~^v^~

_Emma watched the owl take flight, heading north, with a grim expression of satisfaction on her face._

_“You know, they’ll be talking about this one for ages,” Catherine smirked, joining her at the window. “I don’t think a muggle parent has ever sent a Howler to Hogwarts before, much less one criticizing the_ professors _.”_

_“Well I can’t say I’m surprised. It’s not as though they give us a great deal of resources. I doubt any of the other muggle parents have much contact with the magical world at all. Pity, really – I’m not certain non-magical letters are even read by the administration.” She frowned, thinking on the missives she had sent to the Headmaster after the girls had admitted their first year’s adventures. She hadn’t received a single reply._

_“It’s not really a matter of magic,” Catherine said. “Magical parents don’t really have many alternatives, either, as far as critiquing the Headmaster or the Hogwarts Board goes. Not that many would even think to do so. Dumbledore’s very well-respected, you see…”_

_Emma_ harrumphed _. “Well-respected or not, that school’s a bloody circus. You know what I wish we had? A PTA.”_

_“A what?”_

_“A Parent-Teacher Organization. Even if it didn’t give the parents some measure of control over the school, it would still lend a degree of transparency to the operations of the school.”_

_“How so? What does it do, this PTA?”_

~v^v~

A crease appeared between the witch’s brows. “I presume its title more or less summarizes its function.”

“In a sense,” Emma agreed. “The functions of such a group can range dramatically from fund-raising to coordinating volunteers as classroom aides or field trip chaperones to organizing parent education and extra-curricular activities for students.”

“I hardly think that Hogwarts is in need of muggle parents as classroom aides or Hogsmeade chaperones,” Narcissa interrupted with a sneer, but the very fact that that was the only point she found objectionable indicated some interest, at least in Emma’s estimation.

“Not only muggle parents,” she corrected the younger woman. “I understand that some parents visit their children on Hogsmeade weekends, but a monthly or even once-per-term Parents’ Day would allow the parents of first and second-years to visit their children at the school, and bringing in parents to discuss their careers as students choose their OWL and NEWT classes would give students from magical families as well as muggleborns a broader understanding of the potential pros and cons of each subject. Muggle Parent-Teacher Organizations often provide discretionary funds for schools, or provide salaries of non-essential staff, like art and music teachers. They provide a venue for parents to raise concerns about issues like student safety and teacher qualifications, encourage cooperation between parents and school administrators, and can even function as a lobbying group for educational reform.”

~^v^~

_Emma passed the unsealed scroll across the table and sipped her tea with the least-smug expression she could manage. It was still rather self-satisfied, and grew even moreso as Catherine’s eyes widened, reading the words penned upon it._

_“’Lady Narcissa Malfoy nee Black requests your presence for tea,’” she read aloud, nearly gaping. It didn’t take long for her to recover herself, though. “She must finally be responding to those rumors…”_

_Emma smirked. “So it would seem. Correct me if I’m wrong, but this may be just the opportunity we’ve been waiting for, might it not?”_

_“It just might at that. If we could get the_ Malfoys _to support this… well, she is quite possibly the most influential witch in Magical Britain. And it’s not out of the question. She’s well known for her stance on children’s rights and educational reform. Very anti-Dumbledorian, as you might imagine,” the witch added with an impish grin._

_“Good. Reform. I can work with that.”_

~v^v~

She could tell that the witch was growing more interested in spite of herself. “Educational reform?”

“Beauxbatons is the model of magical education on the continent, and it takes students at age seven,” Emma noted. “There is no reason for Magical Britain not to have standardized primary education as well. And eighteen of the twenty-three International Confederation states recognize their muggleborns as soon as they begin to display accidental magic.”

The crease of confusion returned. “What does muggleborn integration have to do with education reform?”

Emma shrugged. “Well, since Hogwarts is in charge of initiating the process of muggleborn integration, rather than the Ministry, I’d say _everything_.”

~^v^~

_“I just don’t understand why someone couldn’t have told us when she was younger that all the weird stuff going on was_ magic _. This wouldn’t be nearly so overwhelming if we’d had a few years to come to terms with it.”_

_“It’s not so simple, Dr. Granger.” Andromeda Tonks, the only solicitor Emma had written who had been willing to take a meeting with a concerned muggle parent, leaned into her desk, resting her forearms upon its surface. Their initial interview had run over its allotted time by nearly two hours, but the witch seemed every bit as interested in their conversation as Emma was herself. “Muggleborn integration in Magical Britain has historically been the purview of Hogwarts’ Headmaster. That right is reserved in the treaty which allies the school with the Wizengamot. In order to reform that system, one would have to gain substantial leverage over Hogwarts, which, trust me, is far easier said than done.”_

_“But it_ could _be done, hypothetically?” Emma asked._

_“Well,_ hypothetically _, yes, anything is possible…”_

~v^v~

She could see the exact moment when the witch realized her end-goal: the confusion vanished, replaced by cold calculation. “So. You are thinking long-term, after all.”

“Indeed. Though at the moment I am simply focused on improving my daughter’s educational experience.”

Narcissa clearly found something lacking in Emma’s innocent expression. “Somehow I doubt that,” she observed drily.

“Your prerogative, of course,” the muggle replied evenly.

The younger woman gave a noncommittal hum. Her finger returned to tracing the rim of her cup.

~^v^~

_Emma tapped the feather of her quill lightly against her lips, staring pensively at the blank parchment before her. “What does Narcissa_ want _?”_

_“Hmm?” Catherine hummed absently, revising a letter to the Prophet._

_“What can we offer her? Why should she work with us, instead of simply taking the idea of a PTA and implementing it without including muggle parents? We need something to establish a working relationship. A… a hook, of some sort.”_

_At some point, the younger woman had looked up from her work. She was now staring off into space, brow furrowed in thought. “Well, the first thing that comes to mind is, well… you know her own influence on the Board is waning because Lord Malfoy was removed last June? I bet you anything that will be the first thing she thinks of, too, seeing as you’re talking about education.”_

_Emma beamed. “_ Brilliant _!”_

~v^v~

“You are not working alone,” Narcissa observed, apparently decided on the course she wanted to take.

“Of course not,” Emma agreed.

“I might be convinced to lend my assistance to your project, given some indication that your current allies have sufficient pull to make it worth my while.”

“And what sort of indication might suffice?”

“Well, I would be in a far better position to assist if my husband could be returned to his seat on the Board.”

“Let us be realistic, Lady Malfoy. Given the circumstances of your husband’s ejection from the Board, there is no chance that he could re-take his seat, and in any case, Mr. Pierce has already agreed to support our goals in exchange for our support in the matter of his appointment. Madam Price’s position, however, is singularly weak. My allies could be convinced to remove her in favor of yourself or one of your clients.”

~^v^~

_“Here’s the deal, Cadi,” Andromeda said firmly, before pausing to sip her tea. “We – Miss Urquhart, Dr. Granger, and myself – have been thinking that it’s about time someone did something about the way Dumbledore is running that school of his.”_

_“What? But – Meda, really? Dumbledore does a perfectly adequate job as Headmaster. Honestly, ‘do something about Dumbledore…’”_

_“Mrs. Diggory,” Catherine said lightly, “there were several students petrified by a_ basilisk _last year.”_

_“The year before that,” Emma added, “one of my daughter’s closest friends was repeatedly attacked by the Defense professor, which culminated in her witnessing his death at the hands of another professor.”_

_“He hired a half-giant with no qualifications to teach Care of Magical Creatures,” Andromeda sneered. “Not to mention Gilderoy Lockhart was proved to have been a fraud after his tenure at the school, and Binns is still boring students to tears as effectively as he did when_ we _were students.”_

_“Oh, all right, maybe you do have a point,” the wispy blonde witch admitted, a hint of trepidation in her tone. “But what do you want_ me _to do about it?”_

_Andromeda gave her a shark-like smile. “I’m so glad you asked.”_

~v^v~

Lady Malfoy’s eyes narrowed as she considered the counter-offer. “Mrs. Seraphina Rowle,” she decided eventually.

Emma smiled. “And in exchange you will assist in the creation of a Parent-Teacher Organization, including muggle parents?”

The witch smirked. “Yes. If you can get Mrs. Rowle appointed in place of Madam Price, I will support the creation of such an organization.”

“Then I expect I shall be hearing from you soon, Lady Malfoy. Thank you for the tea.” She rose smoothly with the younger woman, and curtsied again.

Narcissa nodded. “It was an… interesting discussion. Bippy will see you out.” She hesitated for a long moment before adding, “Goodwoman Granger.”

~^v^~

_“Goodwoman.”_

_Emma made a face. “_ Goodwoman _? It sounds so… Puritanical.”_

_Andi shrugged. “Nevertheless, that is your proper title, not that most witches would know it, much less deign to use it.”_

_The muggle sighed. “Well, I suppose I’ll consider it a success if I manage to convince her to use it. It’s still a silly title, though.”_

~v^v~

Emma concealed a triumphant grin. “Farewell, Lady Malfoy.”

“And you,” the witch replied coldly, as though she meant quite the opposite. But given that she had not tendered a greeting at all, even insincere civility was progress. Emma would take it. She followed the elf from the room without another word.

* * *

 

Narcissa remained in her second-favorite parlor for several long hours after her muggle guest – how wrong that sounded ‘ _muggle guest_ ’ – departed.

It was clear almost from the moment that the woman had arrived at the door that she had been coached on how to behave during this visit. To be perfectly honest, Narcissa was rather relieved about that. She had prepared herself to throw the upstart muggle out of her home the moment she did something unforgivably rude, but on the whole, she generally preferred social interactions to run smoothly.

That bow, however… She could count the number of witches who could be expected to know of that particular greeting on one hand, and of those, only one (or one other, now, she supposed) would deign to speak civilly to a muggle, let alone teach her anything about Society.

It was tantamount to Andromeda signing her name directly, teaching her little messenger-bird that pose.

And what a pretty message she carried. Nine tenths of her hesitation in accepting the alliance – or at least in tentatively establishing some form thereof, should her one-time sister manage to succeed in the little test Narcissa had set for her – came from the fact that it seemed too good to be true. The remaining tenth was split between her reluctance to have anything more to do with said witch, and the thought of what her own allies would say when it inevitably became apparent that she was supporting a movement which included muggle rights on its agenda.

But with the right spin she was certain she could sell the idea to the Allied Dark – this could be an opportunity on several levels other than the obvious, with a bit of thought and careful planning – and she had long since abandoned any principles other than those which supported herself and her family, including the unreasoning prejudice against muggleborns and muggles with which she had been raised. Had she not insisted that Lucius diversify his portfolio to include interests in muggle businesses after the war? Had she not, many years before that, agreed when a little muggleborn minx insisted that Slytherins weren’t supposed to let honor and pride get in the way of accomplishing their goals?

Besides which, if she was honest with herself (which she tried to be, because _she_ , at least, should know the truth of what she thought, even if no one else did), she missed Andromeda. After the end of the War, she had thought (rather naïvely) that they might be able to rebuild their friendship, if not their sisterhood, and had written her accordingly. But when her one-time sister returned to Magical Britain, it became clear that the orator princeps of the Allied Dark and the muggleborn rights activist (who had taken her Black education and turned it to the purpose of cutting through the morass of legal obstructions which insured the continuation of the traditional class system) had little common ground left between them. They had spent the better part of ten years doing their best to inhibit each other’s political gambits, but now… well, it would be interesting to work together, on the same side for once, rather than at cross purposes.

She smiled faintly as she considered the thought: Dumbledore wasn’t going to know what had hit him.


End file.
